Over the Sky
by mysterious mime
Summary: So captivated Kaoru was that she stood frozen in spot, clenching the sides of her kimono, and unaware that his mouth had moved until a gentle voice brushed past her. 'Hello, my name is Soujiro Seta. I'm looking for a place to stay.' [SoujiroKaoru]
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** Just using the characters for my mere entertainment. And hopefully yours.

* * *

**Over the Sky  
**Chapter One

* * *

People often told her happiness was just a temporary illusion that provoked any weak mind before abruptly disappearing, leaving you so torn it was impossible to possibly replenish any positive thoughts. And she would have heartily believed them too. 

If it wasn't for him.

Him and his lavender eyes. Him and his carrot colored hair. Him and his '_Don't worry, Kaoru-dono. Everything is alright.'_

But it _hurt_. Every inch of her fiber being ached, longed, and mourned for him to return. To her. So once again she could feel the safety of his arms when they wrapped around her shoulders. Or his sweet breath tickling her skin.

She knew she was being selfish. She should have been proud, if anything, that he was so willing to help others in need. Shouldn't have felt deserted when there weren't any nightly dancing fireflies or nocturnal choir gracing their last goodbyes.

Because he just left. Without as much of a glance behind him.

Only because he knew—_she_ knew—it would have been harder otherwise.

Nevertheless she waited loyally every morning for the following month at the foot of her dojo, sadly wishing for his figure to turn around the corner and appear at the gates.

But it had been a crisp morning, full of singing birds and waving lilacs—in fact, she was _certain _he was going to return that faithful day—that the stature of someone who was clearly and undoubtedly not his appeared. Bark green suit covered in golden medals sparked something in her memory and she instantly realized it was the same man who appeared with the proposal for Battousai's help.

It wasn't so much of his presence that worried her. It was the sorrow in his eyes that started her heart skipping beats.

Something was _terribly _wrong.

His hat lifted off his head, bowing out of courtesy and something she couldn't pick out. It was when the white letter, wrapped diligently in crimson ribbon, appeared that everything hit her with brick force.

And those very tears she saved for his homecoming ran free.

* * *

Rain, that had ceased just recently, pelted the grass like a second layer of glass, luminous in the stray rays of sun. The patter of water droplets hitting solid ground did little in relieving the apprehension weighing in the air. It was a cool late-winter morning, and she shivered, not entirely due to the cold, as she took grasp of a simple soft covered book from the surface of her table. The papers were thin and easily ripped if faced against the softest of negative gestures. Along them rested her safe keepings. A key to her grandfather's chest. Her mother's locket. A few cherry petals. 

And Kenshin's letter.

The red ribbon was neatly folded next to the parchment. Shakily, her fingers ran over the smooth surface before picking it up and cautiously, almost as if she were going to unlock hidden displeasures again, unfolded it. The familiar writings that crushed her heart the very day she received it repeated in her mind.

_Dear Kaoru-dono,_

_I want you to know that if you are reading this right now there is a very good chance I'm not alive. _

_I may not be coming back after all. There is only so much even Battousai can do, especially since he's been locked away for such a long time. I fear my skills are wavering, and this . . . may be the last of my fights. _

_Kaoru-dono, I may not survive. _

_I am sorry for breaking our promise. I am sorry for leaving you. I am sorry to see those tears. _

_I am _not_ sorry, however, for whatever time—those two wonderful years—we spent together. I want you to know that I would die to see you happy. Because I cherish you. _

_So please don't cry for me._

_Keep on teaching Yahiko no matter what he says. Keep on cooking for Sano no matter how much he chokes. Keep on yelling at Megumi no matter how much she annoys you. _

_Because they need you, Kaoru-dono. How I needed you, still do—to this very minute—and will continue to do so until my last breath._

_I am neither stupid nor blind. I can see how much you have grown into such a lovely youthful woman. There are many men out there good enough for you. Some—and I am so sure of this—that will make you much happier than I could have ever. _

_So do not let me drag you down. Do not prevent yourself from living the life you undoubtedly deserve. _

_Grant a humble, unworthy man this as his last wish, or else I shall never rest at peace. _

_Yours forever,  
Kenshin _

Her eyes softened, fingers forlornly tracing the contours of his name. She felt the relentless weight of melancholy, but no tears escaped their captive cages. After a whole year of crying—and another rebuilding at an unsteady base—they dried up.

That and he didn't want her to cry, so she was going to fulfill what he asked.

The sounds of someone else's footsteps interrupted her thoughts. The screen door of her room slid open and she turned around swiftly, meeting the scowl of Yahiko's face.

"Hey buso."

The samurai had grown more then she realized over the two years. Now just a head shorter then Kaoru herself, Yahiko's black hair had, if possibly, turned even more messy. Shoulders began to broaden and his voice was at the verge of cracking. The obvious signs of maturity were making their mark.

He was going to be an attractive young man, she knew.

She knowingly smiled when his eyes fell on the letter, widening slightly by surprise before turning around. The kendo sword, which had been on his shoulder lazily just seconds ago, sulked to the ground to a stand next to him.

It was understandable that Yahiko never forgave Kenshin for leaving, for not returning, and that the news still left unhealed scars—on _both_ of them. Kaoru knew, under all that stubborn yelling, that he was devastated too. Kenshin had been more of a father figure than the boy led on and having been betrayed for a second time by a man who held such an integral position in his life crushed him.

"Yes?" She cleared her throat, watching as he straightened his posture.

"There's someone outside wanting to talk to you.We really didn'tget to say much to each otherbut I could tell," Yahiko paused, collecting his thoughts before speaking, as if what he were going to say was going to affect his teacher dangerously—she furrowed her brows as this. And they further increased in pressure when he locked eyes with her, hesitantly gazing over his shoulder.

"Tell what?"

"That he's . . . he's a rurouni."

* * *

Kaoru found it hard to breathe. Her lungs tightened, heart ramming vigorously against her ribcage with dire desperation. Blood danced in her veins in addition to the shivers tingling down her spine. 

Despite the nausea, she forced her legs to move, finding herself running towards the entrance of the dojo rather than walking coolly like she wanted to. Because little words of hope whispered in her ears. That just _maybe_ . . .

She pushed her thoughts away along with the navy bangs that obscured her vision, pursuing her way, as her sandals clicked against the wooden floor.

What if—Kaoru choked—what if he _returned_? That, over the past two years of her suffering, despite the contents of his letter, he had been trying so desperately to return to her, where she would welcome him with mirth cries, into her arms and—

She gasped, eyes falling on the sweet smile of their guest. The otherwise cloaked figure, dressed probably so due to Tokyo's arctic season and the bitter torrent of rain from that dawn, stood at the entrance of her dojo mildly admiring the little sakura tree in her yard. The rest of his longing features hid behind the shadow of his hood. His stature—lithe, lean, and wasn't by any means tall—tugged at her memory of her beloved so much that she almost reached to pull down his obscuring attribute of his coat, eyes brimming with what could have been fresh tears.

But he did it instead, the covering slipping down to his shoulders—her stomach churning violently with disappointment.

No, it wasn't Kenshin.

But it was someone else with almost equally striking features. Sky blue pensive eyes locked with her darker ones. A dark shade of navy hair matted neatly to just above his chin, the winds playing bashfully with them. He stood just a few inches taller then the Kaoru and looked relatively her age.

So captivated Kaoru was, that she stood frozen in spot, clenching the sides of her kimono, and utterly unaware that his mouth had moved until a gentle voice brushed past her.

"Hello," there was a smile, discreet by wholly unforgettable, "my name is Soujiro Seta. I'm looking for a place to stay."

* * *

_Yoru no jikan ga semarikuru  
Anata ha konna chikaku  
Demo tooi..._

_Nighttime is drawing near  
You are this close  
But far away . . ._

**To Be Continued . . . **

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**A/n:** I'm _fully_ aware that Soujiro and Kaoru never made contact in the series, so it's more than clear she has no knowledge of who he was prior to being a wanderer or the fact that he fought Kenshin. Also, this fanfic is written under the notion that the actual Rurouni Kenshin series—in other words from the moment Kaoru met Kenshin, to until she is kidnapped by Enishi—spanned two years; therefore Kaoru is somewhere close to twenty years old (having been seventeen at the start of the anime). Soujiro, who was first met I'll assume sometime during the later half of the first year of the series, is a year older than her according to my sources. The math shouldn't be too hard. 

On another note, the title of this story is actually based off a song, Over the Sky. There are numerous sites online, I'm pretty sure, where you can download it if you're interested.

Thank you for reading; please review!


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** Just using the characters for my mere entertainment. And hopefully yours.

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_shinai_ – kendo sword made of split bamboo

* * *

**Over the Sky  
**Chapter Two

* * *

She sipped her water peacefully, seated across from him, who at this moment, wished he could have worn something better besides the cloak he was in. It wasn't clean, let alone convincing. 

"So, Seta-san—"

"Soujiro, please." He smiled, noticing how uncomfortable his gaze made her. It was a regular reaction and he was used to it. That is not say, however, he never tried making his expressions more lifelike.

_As it is, old habits die hard._

"Soujiro," she corrected, letting the name roll across her lips. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like a place to stay for awhile, if it's not too much trouble."

Her face brightened and he unwillingly felt the edge of his mouth twitch upwards. "Not at all! It gets quite lonely with only Yahiko's arrogant personality around." She grinned at a spiked hair child in the corner when he gave her a loud unmannered snort.

Soujiro nodded appreciatively, shuffling through the many folds of his cloak before taking out a small bag of the little money he had accumulated over the years. "I'll be willing to offer compensation too, though I'm sorry to say it's not much." He extended the sack towards her.

Surprised, but obviously touched, she shook her head. "I don't need pay. I've burdened a good number of free loaders over the time. Your company is good enough."

He was surprised, unused to such kindness. Using his chopsticks, he grabbed held of something on his plate that looked a bit overcooked. "That's very nice of you but—"

"Don't bother trying to reason with her," the boy, who was now getting up to wash his dishes, retorted, ignoring the dojo owner's glare. "She's too stubborn to listen to anyone."

"Shut up, Yahiko," she spat venomously under her breath before turning to him with a forced smile, "Come, I'll show you to your room. Yahiko, go fetch the spare futon from outside."

Mumbling things under his breath that Soujiro could unmistakably pick out, he left the kitchen, not without a snarl. It was and odd relationship that those two had. They were clearly not related—the boy was far too tan skinned, his features were rougher than her delicately constructed ones, and he often referred to the woman as 'buso' (which Soujiro thought she _definitely_ wasn't). He didn't think, even with his lack of knowledge on the subject, that brothers called sisters such things.

Standing up, she dusted off imaginary dirt from her bright pink kimono. A color, in his opinion, that did not suit her. White would have looked better. Silk white, with navy sakura petals cascading down the sides.

He would have to remember to buy one for her.

"So," he started as they walked into halls and then continued to walk through them. The floor beneath him was polished to a golden shine, and he could hear her nervous shuffling ahead of him. "Is there anyone else aside from me 'burdening' your acquaintance?"

"There's this ex-fighter for higher that drops by every once and awhile." 

He couldn't help but look at her quizzically, and she laughed at his expression.

"I get that a lot," she continued, "but he's really a nice guy. A little rough around the outside, but a real softy. He denies it though. And then there is . . ." He immediately noticed how her eyes fell desolately at her feet.

"Was," someone corrected her, and they both turned to see the boy again, holding what he was told to get neatly folded under his arm. "There was a rurouni who left here two years ago. And I doubt he's coming back." He roughly walked past them, sliding open a door nearby, dropping the bed in before leaving them both for the second time.

He felt guilty for starting up such a melancholy subject. He felt even worse when he looked at her crestfallen face beneath her forced happiness. Her face wasn't meant for a frown.

"This is your room," she explained, pointing to a partly open door, "and mine is just across. So if you need anything, feel free to ask."

He simply stared at her, as she avoided his gaze. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go train for a bit." With a bow she left him alone in the dim lit room.

* * *

Her kendo sword cut through the air precisely. With one swift motion, she jabbed forward before continuing her pattern. Her footing was strong and steps were soft. Sweat glistened in the afternoon sun and her brow furrowed further as she progressed on with her strenuous, but worthwhile training. 

Kaoru wanted—no, strived—to be strong.

Something pricked her sense and without mere thought or hesitation, she threw the baton behind her, having sensed an intruder standing near the sliding door. With swift motion, she turned around, ready to snap at whoever dared to shatter her solitude . . .

. . . and found Soujiro's beaming face instead, holding her kendo sword nonchalantly in his hand. "You knew I was here," he uttered surprised, the genial smile never leaving his face.

Flushed from embarrassment—because it was usually Yahiko who pried at her while training—Kaoru mutely took back her shinai, careful to avoid brushing his fingers, and then pushed back navy bangs that stuck to her forehead. She felt almost ashamed at her current state—disheveled hair, wrinkled clothing.

"I'm so sorry," she started frantically, out of breath.

Soujiro simply shook his head, his short locks shaking slightly in the air, "Oh, no need to apologize. _I_ was the one, after all, intruding where I shouldn't have."

"But Souj—"

He lifted his hand politely, cutting her off, "No 'but's, Kaoru. I will not tolerate my rude behavior, and neither you nor anyone else should either. I will wash the laundry for you from now on."

"You really don't—"

Kaoru's guest grinned boyishly. "No? Not enough? How about the dishes too?"

Her mouth instantly closed shut, ceasing her attempts at protest, when she realized what was taking place. Had she continued trying to make him understand that doing those chores was _totally_ unnecessary at especially the rate they were going, he would have ended up rebuilding the dojo altogether—something that she couldn't let him do, even _if_ the dojo was in need of minor tune-ups.

A heavy silence hung in the air afterwards, Kaoru with no idea at what to do besides stand there more or less boring holes into the spotless wooden floors. They stood like that—Soujiro and her—for a few long minutes, she knowing of his eyes that were on her, he only smiling brighter at her constant fidgeting.

"Your fighting style . . . " he spoke so abruptly that she couldn't help but freeze in spot, looking shyly at him through her lashes.

"The Kamiya Kasshin-Ryu, is it not? A series of succession techniques and created with the notion of protecting others."

Surprised at his observation and familiarity, she wordlessly agreed. She grew even more rigid when he began circulating her, a finger massaging his chin as someone in deep thought would do. "Very effective, I'll agree. But . . . "

"But?" The word was like acid. To know something was wrong with her sword skills always made her livid. Kaoru's brow furrowed, glancing at the kendo sword in her grasp, loosening the tight grip she didn't realize she was holding.

He gently took the shinai from her, copying her exact stance. "You see," he started, coherently, "your first jab is at good speed." and he poked the air effortlessly at a velocity he didn't realize amazed Kaoru, "it's when you do your second one—that's a little slow. Exact repetition is the key to chain attacks."

With a small grin Soujiro tapped her shoulder with the sword before handing it back. "Slightly obvious to the opponent. It's pretty useless then—isn't it?—if your enemy can predict your moves to continue on fighting?"

"I guess so . . . " The analysis was logical and above all correct, so she nodded before speaking something that swirled in her mind, smiling curiously, "You seem to know a _lot_ about swordsmanship, Soujiro."

He waved dismissively at her comment, laughing a sound that echoed tenfold in the vast space of her dojo. "Of _course_ not. It's only human nature to criticize. I'm not very good actually. Maybe we should spar sometime? I could only hope that you would go easy on me." He gave her a playful wink before disappearing outside.

Kaoru stood, rooted to her spot, listening to his quiet footsteps walkaway. They were light, barely audible footsteps . . . just like Kenshin's had been. The similarities between them scared her. After all, she hadn't questioned Soujiro about his past when he requested permission to stay, for undecidedly how long, at her home.

Maybe her new guest had hidden secrets too. Maybe he harbored some terrible bloodshed that stained his hands as well.

Or maybe she was just missing Kenshin too much. With a sigh, she turned to proceed with training.

After all, what was the likelihood of someone with _great_ sword skill living under the same roof as her once again?

* * *

_Nani ni akogarete__  
__Dare wo omou no ka_  
_Inochi kakeru sugata_  
_Sukitooru utsukushisa ni_  
_Kotoba wo nonda_

_By what are you desired__  
__And of whom do you think?_  
_Your life-risking form_  
_Drank words_  
_In transparent beauty_

**To Be Continued . . . **

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**A/n:** Thank you greatly for your encouraging words. My deepest apologies for how long it took me to get this chapter out. With final exams, cousins visiting from Arizona, a paragraph or two were all I was able to manage. But, it's summer now, so expect faster updates . . . _hopefully_.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** Just using the characters for my mere entertainment. And hopefully yours.

* * *

**Over the Sky  
**Chapter Three

* * *

He took a deep breath in, wrinkling his nose before letting the smoke escape the confinements of his mouth, watching it swirl in the air before him as it disappeared. With a flick of his fingers, the cigarette fell to the ground and he crushed the last of its lights dead with his heal. 

Hands in his pockets, he continued to walk through the busy streets, dodging people left and right expertly, as if he knew how the crowds maneuvered. Sure, maybe it had been months since he was last here—two years, he realized grimly—but this was his home and he wasn't going to forget its special attributes _that_ easily.

Ex-fighter, Sanosuke smirked.

_Never_.

And it's not like even if he tried, would the memories leave him. How _can_ you not remember living with a pickpocket, poisonous doctor, hot-tempered sensei, and former manslayer for a good two years?

_Unless you go and blow yourself up in a crummy old war . . ._

With a disgruntled sound of distaste, he kicked a can in front of him and frowned.

_Stupid Kenshin._

He wasn't even gone a month on a voyage to the American states he had heard so much about, when Sano received the letter from Megumi that Kenshin had died.

_And left Jou-chan alone. _

His fist clenched and uncoiled.

_Selfish bastard . . ._

And what made _no_ sense was that Sanosuke had specifically told the hitokiri not to be a fool and go kill himself. And that he had a duty to protect Kaoru while he was gone. And that if he so found a _scratch_ on her body, that he was going to pound Kenshin's frail skull to a bloody pulp.

_If hell doesn't wring your neck down there, _I_ will. _

But all negative thoughts ceased to exist and Sano's face broke into an instant grin the minute he spotted the blue roofs of the dojo encircled by tall cement walls. And there, hanging near the open gates were the words he didn't realize he missed so much until his eyes fell on them, printed in black bold kanji.

_The Kamiya Dojo. _

* * *

The same blade that had made precise cuts on the carrots a few minutes ago was continuing the same fate to the fish that had been neatly cleansed of its scales and organs. Dropping the new slices into the bubbling water of his pan, he idly watched the steam rise in harmony to the aroma he had newly created. 

And past all that simple act of cooking, anyone who had a good eye could have seen the true skill of the mastermind behind the knife and as to why the steel gleamed darkly in his grasp.

But Sano found it more amusing as opposed to the alarm he should have felt when his eyes fell on the midnight haired man he never expected to see upon secretly entering. Experience was important in the world and he had enough of it to understand that the smile the man wore was indeed false. In fact, the mere thought of the past caused his amusement to darken.

"I was so damn sure Shishio was dead. What's his right hand man doing wearing an apron in the kitchen making miso soup?"

The second those words escaped his lips, Sano felt cool metal brush his cheek and had he not been standing straight against the wall, the knife now wedged solid to the wall would have successfully given him one less ear.

He mentally cursed himself before glaring coldly at the hard narrow eyes of Soujiro, whose face marred an ominous frown that gave off an aura equal to killing intent. The fact that this same man had put up a heck of a fight against Kenshin, the legendary Battousai, at only eighteen, hit Sano like a punch to an old wound.

_Idiot. Idiot. _Idiot.

"When Kaoru spoke of an ex-fighter, I didn't expect of it to be you, Zanza." Soujiro carefully seized the knife, eying the impaired wall before continuing to prepare lunch. His tone was deathly calm. Even years later, Sano couldn't repress the shudder that it brought.

"People change. I'm not a fighter for hire anymore," he retorted smugly, only to have his arrogance explode right back in his face.

"Then learn to take your own advice sometimes." There was a tingle in Soujiro's smile, a bit of haughtiness almost mocking at Sano's lack of common sense.

He growled, his anger boiling. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Is it a sin at merely wanting a place to stay?"

"With the _Battousai__'s_ woman?"

It was like a slap of ice, and Soujiro's barrier of confidence instantly shattered. "What?"

_Bingo. Score for Sanosuke. _

"Yeah, well, it's not really my place to say, but he and Kaoru lived here together for a good number of years. They had a special a bond. Some call it love." He shrugged. "And frankly so do I."

Soujiro glanced at him carefully, calculating, and Sano grimaced in a result, arms wrapping in a fold in front of his chest. His white attire had long since been discarded, replaced by a brown trench coat and a western cowboy hat that seemed so popular from the Americas. He idly wondered if Kaoru and Yahiko would be able to recognize him. There was also the matter of the beard he had grown . . .

"So," the shorter of the two men scoffed as he fingered the knife he had been so carelessly fiddling with, "he's the one who left her."

Surprised at the aloofness of his tone, Sano nodded. "Left, and buried his own grave while he was at it. Some sergeant of Japan's army needed his aid and ever-so-willing-to-help Kenshin thoughtlessly agreed,"

Their gazes locked for a time freezing moment. And behind the unreadable eyes of the samurai, Sano witnessed a glimpse of remorse, before altogether his threatening features melted into a sympathetic smile.

"That explains her sadness."

_Sadness . . ._

"How long have you been here?"

Soujiro turned to stir the soup. "Three days."

"Does she know about your . . . past?" Sano warily spoke the words.

"No," there was a momentary pause, "And if you don't mind, I'd like to keep it like that."

"Where are you staying?"

A small smile lit his face, at which Sano furrowed his brows. "Ah, I do so believe it is Himura-san's old bedroom, if I'm not mistaken. The one right across from Kaoru's?"

Sano was not pleased to hear this predicament.

"She didn't tell me. Just a guess, really." Soujiro added with a mild shrug.

The ex-fighter eyed the man currently innocently crafting lunch and then sighed. "Look . . ."

"I seriously don't mean any harm, Sanosuke, if that's what you're worried about. Honest to a man's true word."

"But you—"

"Worked for Shishio."

"And—"

"Tried killing Himura-san."

"So—"

"Ending up where he formally lived years later seems just _sort_ of suspicious. Believe me, I understand." Soujiro grinned cheekily, pouring the meal into four small bowls that had been assorted and placed neatly onto a tray. Sano's nose twitch at the delicious smell, but pride held him in place.

_Eating food cooked by someone who tried killing you at one point is not smart._

Soujiro continued speaking, as he effortlessly balanced the aforementioned tray with a finger. "As you may or may not know, I started wandering after my defeat in Kyoto, inspired by Himura-san's enlightenment to find my own clarification on life. In the three years that have passed, I have learned some things." He slid the serving dish onto the table. "But that is not the point. When my travels brought me to Tokyo, you have to keep in mind I had very little money. There was no inn I could have afforded. A young woman in the restaurant I was drinking tea in saw this and suggested I go the Kamiya dojo, for the owner was renowned for accepting those with a lack of funds."

Sano snorted. "Jou-chan's too damn nice. Someone's gonna take advantage of her one day." He gave the former manslayer a pointed look. "How long do you plan staying here?"

"I initially intended not to hang about for very long. But there is something odd about this place," Soujiro voiced, giving the kitchen a prudent look over. "I don't know what the sensation is, but it makes me feel . . ."

"At home. Like you finally belong somewhere," the tall brunette finished, leaning against the wall with a ghost of a smile.

_I know that feeling well. _He felt it all the time around Jou-chan. She was magical like that.

Soujiro nodded thoughtfully. "Precisely. And now that I've learned Himura-san lived here as well, I'm considering staying for as long as Kaoru will allow me to."

"Which," Sano sighed, scratching his chin forlornly, "may as well be nearly forever."

The dark-haired man gave an understanding smile. "Nice people like her are rare to find."

"I know." There was silence—heavy, choking stillness—as Sano raised his gaze and stared seriously at the potential new occupant of the Kamiya Dojo. He was far from happy with this—the creases on his face were evidence of displeasure—but it was not in his place to decide who or who did not live here. "If you hurt her . . ."

"I won't."

"I swear," he growled, making a tight fist. When it came to his Jou-chan's wellbeing, he never played around. "If you fuckin' touch her in any indecent way . . ."

There was no trace of a smile on Soujiro's face. "The thought won't even cross my mind."

And for some, startling reason, Sano believed him.

"I'm going to keep my eyes on you."

"I know you will."

"I don't trust you."

"I understand."

"I . . ." Damnit, he didn't know what else to say. Soujiro's placid expression was intimidating and he was at a loss for words.

The dark haired rurouni saw this and gave him a triumphant grin. "Now," he piped up and turned brightly to Sano, as he took off his apron, "would you like to join us for lunch? I'm not the best cook, but . . ."

He gave into temptation and plopped himself down. It was too hard resisting the alluring smell of miso soup when he hadn't eaten anything good for so long. "Let me tell you something, kid. First rule of the Kamiya residence: anything is better than Jou-chan's food."

* * *

_Anata ga sora wo yuku nara  
Watashi ha tsubasa ni naritai  
Donna ni tsuyoi kaze ni mo  
Keshite orenai  
Shinayaka na hane  
Itsuka kitto motsu kara _

_If you are going to fly  
I want to be your wings  
No matter how strong the wind is  
I will never be folded  
Because someday I will surely  
Have supple feathers _

**To Be Continued . . . **

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**A/n:** Phew . . . The chapter's _finally_ done. Took me longer than I wanted it to take, but hey, at least it's complete.

You're reviews are simply mind blowing. Thank you for all the encouragement!


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** Just using the characters for my mere entertainment. And hopefully yours.

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**Over the Sky  
**Chapter Four

* * *

It had been the happiest he ever saw her—the first time since his stay that he saw her smile reach her eyes. 

And while she was engrossed in a lively chatter with Sanosuke, who occasionally nodded his head in between slurping his soup, he couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the upturned lips, the brightness of her midnight orbs, and the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. It was uplifting and he made it his mission to make her smile more often.

He could see why Himura-san had fallen in love with someone like Kaoru. It was all anyone couldn't help on doing.

Soujiro didn't want to be caught staring, so adverted his gaze to the silent boy next to him—Yahiko, if he remembered correctly—who had left his food untouched, staring off at nothing particular with a dark mood.

"Is there anything wrong with the lunch?"

"No," was his deadpan reply.

"Ah, okay then. I was worried there was." Soujiro nodded, beaming down at him. The usual smile that he wore on his face unnerved the boy and he fidgeted nervously in his seat, avoiding looking at the wanderer directly.

"Why do you smile all the time?" he asked so suddenly that Soujiro was taken aback, blinking furiously at him, as if the question was a momentary glitch in time. But it wasn't, and his tense shoulders fell.

_"Here are the spare bandages you asked for. I had to steal them, so I'm pretty sure they'll be mad. But it doesn't matter."_

_"Why do you smile all the time, boy?" _

_"I figure it's better to smile then to let them know it hurts. Because pain is a weakness, right? And only the weak die." _

With a shrug, he grinned at the boy. "No reason, I guess. It's a habit I developed from long ago when I was a child."

_"You let them hurt you."_

_"I have no where else to be. At least here, I know I have a purpose." _

_"And what purpose it that?"_

_"To live. To be worth something. To be wanted, even for the wrong reasons." _

"I suppose my positivism seems to take people by surprise. It comes in handy though, when I . . ."

_"Kill."_

_"But why?"_

_"Do you want to become strong?"_

_". . . Yes." _

_"Good. Go get my sword." _

"Communicate," Soujiro finished, but with a profound grimace that couldn't help but form. It disappeared as quickly it appeared, marring my face like a scar in its short existence.

Sano seemed to notice his change in mood, giving Soujiro a wary look before glaring at something Kaoru said about the ex-fighter's facial hair and how he was in need of a shave. He, in his fit of defense, slammed the table, sending a wobbling glass to crash against the surface. Water spilled—ran and tickled the tips of Sourjiro's skin.

_"Are you crying?" _

_"No, Shishio-sama. Just admiring the rain."_

* * *

She was almost there. A few more corners and she wouldn't have to worry about waking anyone up. She gave the sky above her a longing gaze, warmed by the bright fiery colorings dancing with the brush strokes of lavender near the horizon before melting into the darkness of the night. 

They reminded her of him.

She pulled her kimono closer, bitten back from the cold left from the nighttime and something else that panged her gut violently.

She was going to go visit him today—like she always did some time at the end of every month.

She gave her friends' room a sorrowful looks as she past them by.

No, it was better off they _didn't_ know. They weren't going to take it as well as she would have liked if they found out she was awake and off at sunrise _just_ to visit him.

She clutched the basket of jasmines to her chest. They were his favorite—the jasmines. He had told her once.

And then he kissed her.

She had been wearing a jasmine perfume that day and continued putting it on several days later.

Only, it stopped once he went away. It hurt too much.

Her sandals clicked musically against the smooth surface of her floors. Basked in the morning sun, they reflected her slightly blurred image like a dusted mirror. Her sad blue eyes looked back at her.

Pitying.

She didn't want any of it, so she looked up and stared at the gates that stood proudly. The walls, after so many years, still rested sturdily—the corners eroded of their sharpness. His name, along with her, Sano, Megumi, and Yahiko's, was carved somewhere on the surface of the structure. Somewhere—probably worn away, too.

Almost there.

She peeked quickly behind her, making sure that there was no lurking figure following her steps, satisfied when there was none despite her murmuring conscious that spoke otherwise.

For in fact there was one. In front of her, to be exact.

And she crashed into him full on.

Her eyes flickered upwards and her mouth gave way with a surprised gasp.

"Soujiro!"

And then she couldn't help but glare. But it was hard glaring at someone with such beautiful eyes. And her glare fully faltered even more once he smiled—an expression torn between insanity and sadness. A look that never failed to unease her. She pursed her lips together and tried her best to hide her sadness and shock with anger. "Do you always scare people when you greet them?"

His smile widened and he shrugged. "Only to those who look like they are doing something they shouldn't be."

"Are you saying I look suspicious?" She narrowed her eyes.

He smirked mockingly, leaning forwards. "Do you always sneak out of our own home before dawn?"

She scoffed, but stole a glance back at her dojo.

"No need to worry. Sano's too deep into his slumber to notice or care. He might as well be considered unconscious at this rate. And Yahiko's hearing isn't advance enough to pick our conversation up from where he is," he paused, before putting a finger to his chin, "which is the kitchen, by the way."

His insightfulness astonished her once more.

She realized, right then and there, that he was more than what he let on.

But then again, she had a few secrets that he didn't know either. It was only fair.

"I'm off to see a friend." It was a blunt confession, she knew.

He stepped back to observe her. She bit her lip, flustered when his eyes roamed up and down her body. "A sleeping friend?"

Her gaze fell to the ground, making designs in the dirt with her heel.

"A friend who can never wake up," was her whisper.

And when she looked up, she saw the genial features on his face. He offered a hand and spoke in a way she couldn't refuse. "Then let me escort you. The pain is less unbearable if you aren't alone."

He understood. That was all she needed.

And she took his hand without hesitation.

* * *

_Onaji yume mite sodatta ne  
Shiroi hana saku machi de  
Demo ima ha _

_We had and nurtured the same dream, right?  
In a town where white flowers bloom  
But now we..._

**To Be Continued . . . **

**

* * *

**

**A/n:** And another installment complete. To clear up any confusion, this chapter would make a _lot_ more sense if you've seen the Kyoto Arc. During the fight between Kenshin and Soujiro, there were cut scenes relating to Sou's past and how he met Shishio. The italicized in the beginning are _flashbacks_ and _not_ thoughts. I'm sorry if my constant shifting writing style annoys anyone, but it makes writing the story much more fun.


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:** Just using the characters for my mere entertainment. And hopefully yours.

* * *

**Over the Sky  
**Chapter Five

* * *

Dust had lifted up with their steps in small wisps of clouds, floating lazily in the air just at their heels, before settling comfortably back on the ground. While it was still February, and therefore winter, the winds were moderately temperate now that spring was fast approaching. 

In the breeze he could smell them. And if he closed his eyes just briefly, he could almost anticipate the feel of the jasmine petals against his cheek. When he would lift his free hand to flicker the tickle away, he would come to the sad conclusion that there were no flowers brushing his skin but the wind or, occasionally, a lock of her defiant hair—the tresses of her ponytail that, in a way, symbolized her nature.

He could see how strong she strived to stand next to him, to prove—maybe more to herself than to him—that she was not weak. That she was not, despite her gender, feeble. Oh, there was no doubt in his mind that was strong, even a bit hardheaded.

But in their joined palms, he could feel her heartbeat and its fast pace.

Through a pair of metal gates, they entered together, still peacefully engrossed in their silence even as they made their way deeper onto the trail. Tombstones passed them in neat lines—some decorated with flowers and others left untouched.

And just like that their walk had stopped and her fingers slid through his, leaving his hand bare in the cool.

She kneeled with a sad smile, setting her basket of jasmines to the side to rid the grave of webs and wilted plants first before setting the new flowers decoratively around the stone. She continued worked slowly and carefully.

And he continued to watch her with fascination and a new understanding.

She stood up, finally satisfied with her handiwork, to dust off dirt from her black kimono. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she intertwined her fingers in front of her chest and closed her eyes, moving her mouth to a silent prayer.

It was there, in the morning light that filtered through branches of trees and landed on her, did he truly see her through her barrier. He saw how her hands shook very slightly, how that accompanied to the brief quivers in her breathing. He noticed how under her eyes lived indications of bags, left from unsettling nights where he mind would not rest.

She was desperately clinging to whatever strength she had, but the pain, no matter what, was obvious.

He touched her softly on the shoulder. "Kaoru."

Big lashes lifted to reveal those marvelous eyes of hers, shining with held back tears. For a breathtaking moment, he lost all sense in himself.

She smiled her sad smile for the second time and he felt his fingers slide down her arm on their own accord, maybe in search for her hand, maybe for no reason at all. Yet the mission was left unsuccessful, and his arm dangled solo at his side once more when she bent down to the grave again.

"I try every month, you know, to realize that he's no longer here without emotionally loosing it." She traced the letters inscribed in the stone. H-I-M-U-R-A. K-E-N-S-H-I-N. "But . . . "

There it was again. That tremor in her voice. "But it never gets easier," he finished, solemnly.

She stood up abruptly and griped his forearms, eyes frantically—_desperately_—searching his for comfort he wasn't sure he was able to give. "Does it get easier, Soujiro? Does the pain ever go away?"

He stared off over the sky and into the distance, reminiscing on his past and all those he had heartlessly killed, feeling the all too familiar sinking feeling whenever he thought about them.

His mouth quirked and then came his answer. "No."

She stared at him helplessly, with wide unblinking eyes. Then her head sank and her bangs shadowed her face the way a curtain would a window. She loosened her hold until her hands were back to their proper side.

"Some how," she smiled painfully, "I knew that."

Cautiously he took a step forward and, in his unhurried pace, settled his arms loosely around her shoulders, questioning if she did not mind his motives. When she made no gesture otherwise, he took a chance and pulled her closer. He was not used to giving hugs so it was a bit of an awkward, loose embrace. But it was a warm one nonetheless and gradually she gave into the console.

In a rare show of weakness, she leaned against him for support.

"The pain never goes away as long as you remember." He heard her sniffle. "I am sorry."

Minutes passed—quiet, long minutes. Birds sang above them. The normal sounds of crowds in the street became evident. Neither spoke, nor moved; just breathed and blinked and savored the moment. The caretaker of the cemetery walked in casually, nodding compassionately at them as he passed by on his way to work. Clearly, he saw people's grief all too often.

When her sniffling subdued and she regained the strength needed to put up her barrier in front of Sano and Yahiko, he pulled away and she proceeded to wipe away traces of her tears.

She laughed, almost pitifully. "I got you wet."

He looked down at his collar, which was a bit wrinkled now and darkened from tears. He grinned, waving a dismissive hand. "Nothing the sun can't handle."

She laughed again, spirits rising as she looked up at him fondly. "Thank you."

"What for?"

But she simply answered by leaning forward, standing on her toes very briefly to make up for their small difference in height. Promptly she brushed her rosary lips against his cheek. "I owe you one," she whispered in his ear.

Before he had a chance to react to the sudden approach—the soft, without doubt unforgettable advance—she grabbed his hand, and with one friendly goodbye to Kenshin, hauled him out of the cemetery with a bright, true smile.

_Himura Kenshin. (1849-1879)  
In loving memory of a man who was larger than life._

* * *

The sun had risen fully into the sky and people filled the streets in the morning glory. Carriages were opened, bargains were yelled. "Tofu, only half yen!" "Great silk kimonos for the Sakura Festival! Buy your woman one today!" "Quality rice—only ten yen for a bag!" 

Such great deals fell deaf to one man's ears. When his two miscreants, found missing when he woke up this morning, returned to the dojo, they were greeted by Sano's annoyed face, glaring and rubbing his newly shaved face in discomfort.

"Glad to have you joining us again. Where were you?" he demanded, staring pointedly at Kaoru. He didn't even spare Soujiro a glance. _Damn samurai probably did something. If he did . . ._

"What?" She bristled. "I can't go anywhere without your permission now?"

"Where were you?" he repeated with greater vigor.

She bit her lip, knowing that Sano was very much capable of picking out her lies. "I was—"

"—walking with me to that market to buy some tofu she wanted for breakfast," Soujiro, with his all too happy, twisted smile, interrupted.

Sano flicked his narrowed eyes over briefly to Soujiro, face clearly saying: '_Don't lie to me.' _

Soujiro's face said back '_I'm not.' _calmly

But you really couldn't tell from a guy like that.

"Oh yeah?" The ex-fighter observed their empty hands. "I don't see any bags."

Kaoru gave Soujiro a worried stare. But ever quick Seta...

"There wasn't any tofu left to buy."

_Damn._

"Well," Sano scoffed, "I don't believe you." He folded his arms around his chest, watching and calculating the two as if they were delinquents who were not allowed out of his sight.

Kaoru seized this moment to distract him. "Sano," she grabbed his chin swiftly, turning it around in different directions, "did you shave?"

It was a new topic Sano took no problem shifting to. "Eh? Well . . ."

She observed him critically, lips pressed to a firm line. "Ah, I see you've missed some spots."

"What?" He reached for his face. But she slapped it away before dragging him along by his jaw. It was rather painful and made his joints sore.

"Let's go clean up your blind spots."

"What? But...ow, Jou-chan. How do you know how to use a blade?"

She shrugged. "I don't. But I'm sure with a few experiments I could get the hang of it."

Sano's eyes widened with fear and the future prospect of excruciating amounts of pain. If she couldn't cut carrots correctly, what made him think she would be able to use a blade without slicing his nose off?

_'Help me!'_ He shot Soujiro a pleading look who turned away to admire a tree instead.

_'Filthy bastard.' _Sano glared as he was hauled around the corner, to his unfortunate doom.

* * *

_Onaji yume mite sodatta ne  
Shiroi hana saku machi de  
Demo ima ha_

_We had and nurtured the same dream, right?  
In a town where white flowers bloom  
But now we..._

**To Be Continued . . . **

_**

* * *

**_

**A/n:** I'm extremely sorry for the long wait and I know a million apologies wont make up for my tardiness. But I'm back, and Over the Sky is officially off hiatus.

Keep reviewing! It's all that keeps me going!

I'm going to be starting the ninth grade pretty soon. But that doesn't mean slower updates. In fact, it might mean quicker ones (if I don't drown in homework first). School seems to be a breeding ground for inspiration to me.

I'm angry because the Quick/Edit feature seems to be screwing up with my format. Now I'm forced to use those horizontal lines. Puu. This sucks.

Many thanks for the reviews!


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer:** Just using the characters for my mere entertainment. And hopefully yours.

* * *

**Over the Sky  
**Chapter Six

* * *

The sky, Soujiro concluded, was a marvelous thing. 

The sun smiled warmly, wrapping them in long arms of light. Once awhile, it gave them long cool kisses of wind and occasionally embraced them in comfortable shades that came in forms of thick, soft clouds. He felt all of this—along with the undoubted horde of imaginative daggers currently being shot at his back.

Ah. Sano was watching. Again.

He could feel them—those dark eyes of his, inspecting carefully and observing critically at everything and anything that played in his line of vision. Smugly, just to tick his inspector off, Soujiro brushed his hand lightly against a clueless Kaoru's.

Sano growled somewhere off in the distance. He smirked silently.

Soujiro didn't blame him or his over protectiveness of her. He fully understood the man's suspicion, knowing that there could only be, at the most, a reserved friendship between the two ex-fighters, even _when_ they had their share of common interests (keeping Kaoru smiling being just one of them).

However, Sano's constant scrutinizing did not stop him from studying her.

In the few weeks he had stayed with Kaoru—from the moment she had invited him to live at her dojo—he was simply awestruck at the life she lived. And his fascination continued to grow as they spent their little moments together.

Washing the dishes, cleaning the floor, or hanging the laundry as he and she were doing right then—they were simple chores that made him feel, unlike Yahiko when he was ordered to do his assigned tasks, content. He had been missing out on a life like this, never having the chance of it as a child or as he grew up.

But now he did.

"You look happy."

Soujiro looked up from folding a white sheet, looking at Kaoru who was mirroring his actions. They stood in between two walls of clothes that relentlessly danced in the breeze. A bucket of soap water, overflowing with bubbles, sat alone a few meters to their left.

"I am."

She raised a curious brow, setting down her folded sheet to pick a new wet one to hang in its place, "By doing the laundry?"

He chuckled at the surprise in her tone. "Yes."

She, in return, shook her head in disbelief before whipping the wet sheet in the air. Clear, crystal-like water droplets flew in many directions, glinting like stars left after a retreating night. A solo flyer crashed against her cheek and he looked at it intently as it rolled ever so slowly down her skin.

"Soujiro."

He shifted his attention to her eyes and they were just as mesmerizing. But she turned away to hang her sheet and he made sure to hide his frown that formed from the loss of the connection.

"Tell me. Why did you come here?"

"To help you do the laund—"

Kaoru faced him completely now, and he was almost completely taken aback from the serious expression on her face. She ignored the laundry that needed to be hung, the fact that it was well into lunch time and Yahiko would be coming home yelling for something to eat, or even the pointed stare Sano was sending the pair over the laundry lines from the steps of the dojo on which he sat.

"No, no. I mean," she waved a hand to their surroundings, "why did you choose _here_? Of all the places you could have lived in, why did you come here? To my dojo?" She took a step closer, eyes narrowed, studying him in a way that would have made Sano proud.

Soujiro sighed. He knew it would come to this, sooner or later. "I will leave if you think I have over done my stay—"

She gripped his hands. "Of course not! It has nothing to do with that; you can live here for as long as you like. I'm just curious...Why with _me_?"

No one noticed Sano stand up.

He smiled, almost whimsically. "Your reputation proceeds you, Kaoru."

No one saw Sano walk towards the mail carrier who appeared at the doors.

"My reputation?" She laughed. "On what grounds? I'm not special."

No one noted Sano receiving the telegram.

"Oh," he grinned, squeezing their still enclosed hands, "but you are. When I first came into Tokyo, I didn't have enough money to stay at an inn. Some suggested I come here. I also hear you can work miracles with corrupt men; change them and gave them a life only reincarnation can give."

No one perceived Sano's crestfallen face upon reading his letter.

She looked at him, with large eyes that only a child who was introduced to a new sweet could harbor. "But I—"

No one was aware that Sano had walked inside.

Soujiro let go of her hands. "You do. In fact, I think I'm beginning to feel that change in me already." He winked at her.

No one took under consideration that Sano never came back.

She blinked, seeing him even more of a mystery. Finally, she pieced two and two together and came to one, startling conclusion. "Soujiro," she opened her mouth and already he knew he had stepped out of his border, the one he had swore he wasn't going to cross, "your past—"

He bit back a flinch. "—is no concern as of now. However, I do think it's time for lunch." He smiled briskly before walking away in the general direction of the kitchen to prepare what was considered the best lunch since Kenshin's days, and Kaoru, who could read his smiles real well now, knew that his was heavily forced.

* * *

Yahiko would never admit it, but he thought about Kenshin a lot more than he originally led on. 

Yes, there was hate for him, buried deep inside his thoughts. But there still was, no matter the magnitude of his distaste, a certain admiration for him just as well. Kenshin had been like a second father to him—his wise words, soft appearance, and passion for peace.

On certain days when his mind would wander, when he wasn't working, hanging out with Tsubame, or training with Kaoru, he would think back to the lives they once had and how much he took it for granted.

Now, he would do anything to have it all back.

More often than not, however, Yahiko hated the man that left Kaoru behind, despite her obvious and blaring love. It pissed him off, how he had prioritized everyone else above the buso who had changed everyone she came into contact with for the better. He wished Kenshin had been, at least for once, not bent on making the world a better place and should have instead considered what was best for Kaoru—what had been best for _him_.

_Well, then he wouldn't be the Kenshin we knew_, a little voice said to him.

_Shut up_, Yahiko growled. And it obeyed, albeit a bit grudgingly.

Without realizing it, the young samurai found himself home. With a sigh, he slouched to the ground, defeated.

He was thinking too much. It was time he took his own advice and let go. Moved on. There were things to look forward to. There was Tsubame to think about. She even said that he was acting a bit odd today and he felt especially guilty for snapping at her. He just hoped she wasn't mad. He couldn't afford to loose one of the better things in his life.

He wouldn't admit it out loud yet, but he loved her.

Something glinted in the side of his vision and he quickly thrust his hands out to block a punch.

"Damnit, Sano!" Yahiko glared. "You trying to kill me?"

Sano, the chicken-head, the ex-fighter who never paid for his meals, smiled before retreating to a casual position. "Wow. I'm impressed. Jou-chan's trainin' must be working."

Yahiko turned his attention back to the grass and then proceeded to get right to the point. "What do you want?"

"Kaoru and Soujiro are out. Apparently she's has this sudden fetish with curry and we just _have_ to have it for dinner tonight."

"Sano..."

He grinned and the Sagara offhandedly flicked the fishbone in his mouth away. "Ya sure you don't wanna go take another walk?"

"Look, if you're not going to tell me—"

Sano shrugged, "Alright, alright! Jeez. Just don't say I didn't warn you. In any case . . ." here he gave their surroundings a careful look about, "I've got some stuff to tell you."

"Right."

"Look. I'm serious."

Yahiko had to admit he sincerely was and decided that whatever it was had to be at least some what important, especially since it had gotten Sano's attention at the level it did.

"Alright. I'm all ears."

Sano nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, listen carefully. I'm going to tell you a story."

Yahiko bit back a sly remark.

"A story that took place five years ago. A story about how Kenshin and I met a blue haired boy while we were in Kyoto..."

* * *

_nani ni akogarete  
__dare wo omou no ka  
__inochi kakeru sugata  
__sukitooru utsukushisa ni  
__kotoba wo nonda_

_What do you desire?  
__Who is on your mind?  
__The silhouette risking life.  
__Seeing its transparent beauty,  
__I was lost for words._

**To Be Continued . . . **

* * *

**  
A/n:** School and real-life are a killer. I'm surprised I even found time to write this chapter. D: 

Anyway, thank you guys _very_ much for the comments. I love you all!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** Just using the characters for my mere entertainment. And hopefully yours.

* * *

**Over the Sky  
**Chapter Seven

* * *

His first idea was sneaking out, but logic caught up with him before he made that mistake and told him that Kaoru would have eventually have found out anyway and the result of learning of his escapade through some different source aside from himself would hurt him more then do good. His second plan, an even worse arrangement now that he mulled it over, was taking her along with him. 

It was best, he concluded, that he left her there under the protection of Yahiko who he knew was sufficient enough to look after her in his absence. In the end, he had decided to leave the dojo late in afternoon a good deal after lunch so he was well fed and rested, and, if his persuasive skills were good enough, with her approval that he was going on the trip he was.

Though now as he stood before her, her face pressed into a thin line between anger and sorrow, he didn't know how he was going to make the encouraging, audacious speech that was supposed to win her support and turn that uncanny frown on her face...well, not into a frown anymore.

_Damn. She's so frustrating sometimes._

He sighed and she peered at him closer.

"Jou-chan, you're invading my breathing space."

She poked him square in the chest with a finger, staring at him and just _waiting_ for him to crack and show signs of deceit because the idea that his departure was some sort of joke was set in her mind.

But Sano was a man highly skilled when it came to stoic faces (mastered after all the poker games he played back in America) and his expression was completely unreadable. In the end, as a result of several staring contests, she backed down and let out a long, sad breath of air. The rage was completely void now, overcome by her grief instead. And when she looked up and he read the words behind her eyes, he knew why she was so relentless on not letting him go.

"Kaoru," it had been one of the rare times he had ever used her name and the fact of the matter did not slip her attention, "I'm not going to die and pull another Kenshin Situation on you."

It had been an attempt at a joke and she smiled perhaps because she saw this, but he knew just as well that she had not really found this amusing but only more heavy-heartening.

_Idiot,_ he called himself, _you just made it worse! _

He gripped her shoulders and stared at her with what he hoped was a comforting grin, "Don't worry so much, 'kay? I'm only going to go and check up on Megumi. That plague's been going around her town and I'm worried about her."

It seemed logical enough, but she still found reason to analyze it. "I'm not lying."

She looked down, feeling guilty of accusing him and he could sense the tears building up in the corner of her eyes. "Hey now, don't cry."

She sniffed and then punched him in the arm, desperately trying to clean up her tears that threatened to spill. "I'm not crying, you big dope—at least, not yet anyway."

He chuckled and then she laughed too and soon they stood there, distressed but oddly happy at the same time. Birds stopped singing to observe the disarray of emotions that hung in the courtyard.

As he savored these last few minutes, his eyes idly fell to the sky where thin clouds brushed a blue canvas and inched towards the horizon at a snail-like pace, urging him, at the same time, to start on obvious path that lay ahead of him. He furtively glared at the sky for its persistence, yet inevitably—far too soon for Sano—the moment ended and there were no more laughs left.

But she was smiling brilliantly now and he felt relieved. Before long, she began to dust him off, straightening his shirt and smoothing out his collar. "Well then—"

But the sentence was left hanging because speaking was irrelevant so she simply wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close instead. He hugged her back and absorbed her warmth and scent so he could remember it whenever his journey got rough because he secretly knew it would. He touched the ring in his pocket; it was a constant reminder.

"Stay alive and take care of Megumi." She whispered.

Then, all of a sudden, they were no longer together and he was walking away towards the gates, headed in the direction of the exit that separated him from his perfect home and the inadequate world outside. There was an unfamiliar, unyielding tug on his heart and he wondered if this was what Kenshin had felt like when he had been walking away.

Except he knew it had been much worse for him because they had been in love and, as he recently learned, Kenshin had been planning to propose to her for some time.

Had the war never come and had Kenshin never left, there was no doubt in Sano's mind that they would have been happily married with a son by now.

Except the war _had_ come and Kenshin _had_ left...and now there was _him_, Soujiro, standing there smiling as if it was the only thing the muscles in his face were created to do even though the expression always never looked sane enough to be considered human.

He shot him a glare and when their eyes met for the fleeting moment their paths crossed, Soujiro only smiled wider and Sano only grew that much more perturbed.

The last person in line he was left to meet was Yahiko who stood near the way out, his kendo stick rested comfortably against his shoulder and a firm, determined look on his face. They shook hands briefly but no words were exchanged because none were needed.

They had discussed everything already.

And then, as the dust from the breeze settled down and the clouds disappeared, he was gone.

* * *

Over the span of years she had known him, she had discovered that Sano had this unchanging habit of moving around. It was impossible of him to stay in one place for so long unless he couldn't help it—which was why she never felt bad when he often left the dojo because she knew he would always come back before hopping off somewhere else. 

Back then, she was never afraid of any one of her friends dying when they went anywhere because it never crossed her mind.

But now, it always haunted her.

She was standing, rooted in her spot when, for a split second as Sano departed, his broad built melted into a smaller stature and his short hair turned a fiery red as it lengthened. For that split second, Kaoru couldn't breathe because Sano had merged into Kenshin and that little fear that was persistent in her heart grew.

But it only lasted for a second because then Sano no longer remained and someone else had come to stand right next to her.

"There's no reason to be depressed," Soujiro said softly.

She turned to him and began to fiddle with the sleeves of her kimono. "Sano and Yahiko are all I left here."

"But that's not true." When she looked up at him quizzically, he laughed before gently tapping her on the nose, "You also have me."

At first, she was baffled and it took her awhile to fully digest what he said but once his statement sunk in she couldn't help but nod happily. And then she beamed even brighter as she squeezed his hand in thanks for the sense of stability he suddenly gave her. "That's right."

Yet during her delight, not everyone was happy with this new information and she had failed to catch the serious stare Yahiko sent Soujiro and the mysterious smile Soujiro gave almost instantaneously back.

* * *

_nani ni akogarete  
__dare wo omou no ka  
__inochi kakeru sugata  
__sukitooru utsukushisa ni  
__kotoba wo nonda_

_What do you desire?  
Who is on your mind?  
The silhouette risking life.  
Seeing its transparent beauty,  
I was lost for words._

**To Be Continued . . .**

**

* * *

A/n:** To anyone who found the slight hint of Sano/Kaoru in this chapter offending: I'm sorry, I couldn't help it! I'm a big Sano/Kaoru fan and was going to originally make Over the Sky a Sano/Kaoru/Soujiro triangle but in the middle of writing the last chapter, I decided not to. Hence Sano's departure because I knew if I kept him in the dojo the triangle would be unavoidable and his stay also conflicts with my plot. 

Anyway, my internet has been dead for awhile, so lack of update can be blamed on my dad who delayed the repair longer almost every time I asked him to fix it (apparently, it's his idea of a joke). So feel free to chuck pitchforks at him, please.

Of course the plus side of having no internet is writing more. I'm almost done with the next chapter and I have a good idea of the following few.

In the meanwhile, much thanks for the ever-encouraging reviews! 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** Just using the characters for my mere entertainment. And hopefully yours.

* * *

_shoji_ – Japanese sliding doors  
_hakama_ – a wide, pleated skirt for the lower body and worn over a kimono. Women also wear hakama as part of their martial arts uniform.  
_bokken_ – wooden katana

* * *

**Over the Sky  
**Chapter Eight

* * *

He sat there on the porch with great vigilance, observing the sky as he often seemed to do on clear evenings such as this one. The air was inordinately thick and he could feel, by the tingling of his skin, and hear, by the lively drone of the little sakura tree in the yard, the natural change of the seasons. Winter and her cool breezes became distant visitors. In her absence days became longer, and occasionally he could smell the incoming oceanic currents from the east, bringing with them thick, heavy clouds and the promise of spring rains. 

A stray moth entered his line of vision, fluttering tiredly from a long arduous journey, and he reached forwards to feel its russet, constantly beating wings. They were smooth under his touch. Smooth and cool, like . . .

_Like the rain_.

His heart whispered something and he unconsciously winced, insides churning with something akin to boding, outsides, in opposite effect, entirely impassive by its counterpart's crisis and set in its customary, emotionless smile. Rain was an odd thing—gorgeous, dark, and intense, frequently all at the same time; always untamable, never overlooked. To many people, it was when the skies turned grey and when the clouds cracked open, showering the terrain below with water, and every so often with a murmur of thunder.

To Soujiro, it was a force of nature that seeped through his mental barriers and rejuvenated within him a torrent of mixed emotions and jumbled memories.

It had rained, he remembered faintly (having been only two years old at the time), the day he—the scandalous result of an affair his father had with a common whore—was given away to relatives for the duration of his being.

It had rained the night he had defined his future as a merciless, inexpressive killer by taking hold of a weapon—Shishio-sama's sword—for the first time and slaughtering his adoptive family amidst those dreary, dark hours without a blink of remorse.

It had rained during the height of his departure as he left Kyoto, and his previous occupation as a manslayer, for life as a rurouni, packed with nothing but the clothes on his back and other simple necessities, in search for a new meaning of existence.

And, most importantly to him, it had rained briefly that crisp morning when he had first stepped within the Kamiya Dojo's perimeters, instantly mystified by its quaint, homely look . . . only to, seconds later, be bewildered tenfold by the girl who owned it.

He wasn't sure he wanted the rain to come. There would be change—he could sense it—but wasn't entirely comforted by this foreshadowing. He liked his lifestyle at the present—it was simple, comforting, _fulfilling_. But who knew?

_Maybe the rain will bring change for the better._

Blinking, he felt the moth perch on his still outstretched palm. For a while he simply admired it—the moth that was no bigger than his thumb, innocently resting in the center of his hand, flapping its near-translucent brown wings. Then, in a flash, his fingers wrapped tightly into a fist and engulfed the poor critter in an eternity of darkness.

Soujiro heard the stifled gasp in the background and didn't need to turn around to figure out who it was. He had known for some time that she had been standing there against the shoji, wordlessly joining him in observing the sunset, as she often did now, ever since Sano left three days ago. They would watch in comfortable silence as the sun slipped into the horizon, leaving in its wake admirable hues of red and purple, casting shadows that moved to a beat of their own. Then, she would smile and ask him if he wanted to eat dinner and he, with a smile of his own, would indeed always agree to do so.

It had become their afternoon ritual.

"You know," she coolly started, "it's considered bad luck to squish a moth."

He turned to briefly observe her behind him, eyebrows cocked in speculation. "Is that so?" Then, without further upheaval, he opened his enclosed hand and revealed the moth still very much alive. It did not fly away once freedom was attained, as one would logically imagine, but instead stayed and affectionately batted its wings.

"Oh." She chuckled, leaning forward to touch the steadily roosted moth. It liked the feel of her fingers, much like he did when they accidentally brushed against his. "I thought you had killed it."

"No," he replied as she stood back straight and then silently finished, _I stopped killing a long time ago_. Ruefully, he lightly flicked the winged insect off his palm and it, no longer having secure resting ground, soared away. There was a shuffling noise behind him and Kaoru shifted her weight to her other foot. Completely turning to her now, he finally took into consideration of how the light hit her visage (accenting the angle of her cheekbones, he noted with especial certainty), the typical dark lavender hakama she currently was dressed in, and the two suspicious bokken currently in her possession.

He smirked slightly, nodding at them. "Afraid you'll loose one?"

She laughed in return, a sound soothing to his ears, before offering him one. He looked at it with blatant surprise.

"I want you to train with me," she responded to his astonished expression. "Practicing alone is rather boring, to tell you the truth, and I've been dying to have a partner to spar with."

He slowly took the presented sword in front of him and felt it in his hands, gripped gently between his calloused palms. It was light and vaguely worn, maybe a few years old from what he could tell. "But I'm not that good."

"I'll go easy on you." She grinned, eyes twinkling and he realized with a sudden jolt that they were gorgeous, dark, and intense—just like the rain.

"But . . . " Darn, he was running out of excuses. "What about dinner?"

"It can wait."

He looked around uncertainly—there was a perturbed feeling in his gut that wouldn't leave him alone, tickling his stomach, and he didn't have the faintest clue what it was. Excitement? Happiness? "I don't know . . ."

Caution?

Sensing she was losing him, Kaoru's voice took on a whiney, blithely fluttering tone. "Oh come on, Soujiro! Please?" She batted her eyelashes, bottom lip jut out in a cute little pout that made it impossible for anyone, let alone him, to say no. He sighed, aware of a lost cause when he saw one, and promptly gave up trying to persuade her otherwise. He squished his uneasiness into the depths of his mind until it was forgotten.

"Alright," he finally agreed, getting up and dusting his kimono. "I suppose a little duel won't do us any ha—"

But the rest of his sentence was drowned by her squeal of delight. Then the words he had planned to say proceeded to escape from his brain completely when a pair of arms—_her_ arms—wrapped around his neck in a hug of gratitude. It was an odd sensation. He felt the goosebumps joyfully giggling down his spine, and her hair, scented with a touch of peonies, delightfully tickling his nose. He curved his own arms to wrap around her thin waist, having developed a greater sense of ease in holding her ever since visiting Himura-san's grave, but before he could respond to her abrupt embrace, she pulled away, face absolutely beaming.

His own features softened instantaneously. He loved seeing Kaoru smile; it was contagious.

"Thank you," she breathed, squeezing his hand before pulling him along in the direction of the dojo, dismissing the fact that he was well aware of its location on his own. But he didn't mind.

_No_, he thought with a smile, idly glancing at their joined hands, _not at all._

* * *

She couldn't remember the last time she had a sparring partner. There had been attempts, she remembered all too clearly, in trying to get Kenshin (when he had been alive and able-bodied) to fight with her. But he had always characteristically declined with a flustered smile and nervous sweat. She never took the rejection personally, having known entirely well who he was—who he _used_ to be—and what such a man had been capable of at the prime of his career. She knew because he had told her stories; during intimate moments when they used to walk under the moon, hand in hand, she had every so often spotted a faraway look in his eyes. One time, she had questioned him about it. 

"I was at Kyoto once," he had said, voice just slightly above a whisper, "patrolling the streets alone, as I always seemed to prefer doing, when I came across a man—Kiyosato Akira, as I later found out—who claimed to be the bodyguard of some administrator for the Shogunate. I . . . I killed him without the least regard, though he had some how managed to give me a little present in return." He had fingered the horizontal part of the scar on his cheek then, vision still frozen at the sky, "There had been a full moon; I remember it distinctly because it had been a night that changed my life forever."

When she had asked how, he had soothingly cupped her face and stared at her with such adoration that it took her breath away. "That, Kaoru-dono, is a story for another day."

And because she had been speechless, because she couldn't get over how luminous his amethyst eyes had looked in the moonlight, she had wordlessly agreed.

Kaoru snapped back to reality and the memory faded away until once again her eyesight refocused and she remembered where she was.

_The dojo. _

And who she had to fight.

_. . . Soujiro!_

She quickly looked up and found him staring at her from the other side of the room with a worried expression stitched on his boyishly handsome face. The sun had begun its routinely setting just seconds ago, radiating a golden light that bathed everything in the dojo—including his distinctive, extraordinary features—in an orange glow and she stared back at him, unable to tear her eyes away for some inexplicable reason.

"Are you alright?" He looked like he was ready to rush over to her in a heartbeat lest she might faint.

She blushed, flustered for acting like a gawking freak and forced a little laugh to cover her stupidity. "P-perfectly fine! I was just thinking . . ." _About Kenshin_, she realized mournfully.

Soujiro only nodded, though looked far from convinced and she become aware, not for the first time, that he was far more observant than he, a supposed simple wanderer, let out to be. But she would not question his integrity and utterly refused to do so. He had been nothing but kind to her ever since he first came to her simple abode, and while some would question her sanity for letting a complete stranger take refuge in her home, she frankly didn't care. Some would call her disregard naïveté.

She liked calling it trust in humanity.

"Ready?" she asked, gripping her bokken tightly between her hands; it was comforting to her.

He shrugged. "As ready as I ever will be. Don't forget you promised to go easy on me."

"Don't worry," she grinned good-humoredly, "I'll play fair."

Then, silence fell as both contenders slipped into position. Her feet parted, one further ahead than the other, and arms locked as they held her weapon steady. She breathed slowly, filling her lungs to their greatest capacity, holding briefly, and then exhaling until all prevailing, irrelevant thoughts disappeared. All that lingered were the essentials of her technique and the position of her enemy, who at the moment had mimicked, with a slight variation, her stance several feet ahead.

To the untrained eye, Soujiro looked like a peaceful, genial man who had never held a weapon in his entire life and was now being forced to use one. And yet . . . and yet maybe it was a trick of the light, or a lapse in judgment, but for a split second she saw him differently—saw him standing there weighing his katana, studying his options with unsurpassable expertise, and running through his mind all the different moves essential to best his opponent. She felt, as oddly as that sounded, the years worth of experience emanating off him, as if this was, despite her initial belief, not the first time he had held a sword.

Then, she blinked and the spell shattered.

They were staring at each other for the first few seconds, trying to figure out who would make the first move, when she saw his foot shift from the corner of her eyes. Taking this as the initiative, she pushed her heals against the floor and sped forward, sword arched besides her. Their eyes met—different shades of blue clashing—as both smiled at each other, excitement betrayed in their respective expressions.

It had begun—the beginning of their battle; the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

_And maybe_, her heart inaudibly hummed but left the sentence precariously hanging, because Kenshin's genial face appear suddenly in her mind's eye and because she was suddenly within striking distance of Soujiro and dwelled no longer on things left unsaid.

There was a loud _clang_ as their bokken met. She hid her surprise behind a veil, grunting discontentedly before swinging again, sure he was going to miss her next attack, sure his block had been nothing but a brief stroke of beginner's luck. Because, clearly, that was the only reason he had been able to successfully thwart her offensive maneuver _. . . right?_

But he didn't miss.

Nor did he have any trouble blocking her swing after that, or even after that, and this pattern continued with several of her affronts afterwards, like an endless waltz. For long minutes under the waning daylight, they performed the dance around the dojo with nimble feet—she, diving for an attack; he, parrying with astounding, well-locked blocks. The buzz of winter cicadas from outside and the resonating clicking noises from whenever their wooden katana decisively met was their orchestra. All she heard, however, was her pounding heart and the tender whispers of sandals against the shining floor where their mirthful long shadows mirrored their actions in an embellished, yet exquisite presentation of speed and flow.

They came close several times, so near that Kaoru could have brushed her fingers against his dark hair or touched the contours of his lips, before pushing against each other and separating sometimes numerous feet apart. She became increasingly frustrated as the fight drove on by his continuously placid expression. As a result, it was impossible to read him, to figure out what he was thinking, to predict his next defensive move. _How_ someone who alleged in being inadequately informed by the teachings of swordsmanship had managed to block _every_ one of her attacks, she didn't know (but would definitely find out once this match came to a close).

And to make matters worse to her already deflated ego, he didn't even have the gall to attack her! He was always cool, always balanced, always _blocking_—never dodging. She would have admired him if she wasn't so ticked off by his nonviolent attitude.

"Attack me," she growled finally, shattering the silence, panting. She would not last long now. Her stamina was quickly diminishing, as the arduous task of performing blows after blows was unquestionably taking a toll on her. She was going to be aching all over in the morning, she knew. Her muscles were stiff, crying in agony from zealous overuse, and she quietly hushed them, too determined and proud to quit.

Soujiro saw the state she was in, concern shining his eyes. "But Kaoru—"

"It isn't much of a spar if you don't contribute to the action," she huffed, blowing her persistently annoying bangs out of her eyes.

He gave her a dubious look over. She was right, of course, but that evidently did not make him feel any better.

"If you insist . . ." he murmured at last, hesitantly shifting into an offensive stance, shoulders and waist inclined in a posture ready for sprinting. There was something, though, in the way he broke into an indecipherable smile and how he delicately tapped his foot against the ground that threw her off. But before she could consider the peculiarity further, he was gone from just standing, to running _really_ fast towards her, his feet a blur in her vision. Then, she could feel, rather than see, his upcoming assail by the shift in the air and she sidestepped, just barely, his swift swing. The tip of his sword skimmed the sleeve of her hakama tauntingly.

She swallowed her gasp of shock, desperately trying to regain her poise from her haphazard dodge. _Composure._ She could hear her father's berating voice. _Composure and patience is the key to victory—_

She swerved her boken in front of her, blocking another one of his stabs and gritted her teeth at the iron force behind it.

—Too bad she was too busy trying to evade her opponent's moves to take her late father's advice to heart.

The assaults kept on coming, one after the other, and she had no time in between dodging/blocking them—constantly in the knick of time, a hair's width from losing—to consider her possibilities of attacking back. She pointed out, with a taste of irony, how their positions in the match had switch from the beginning and also noted, this time with a tang of gloom, how much worse she was faring defensively. She was draining out quick, like the sun outside which had now all but disappeared.

Her exhaustion was only made all the more obvious when his next barrage of quick attacks came and she, with deteriorating vigor, tried obstructing them but utterly failed. Her resistance broke suddenly and she saw, just briefly, a look of horror flash across Soujiro's face . . .

. . . before hot searing pain erupted from her shoulder and she screamed, as if some iniquitous demon was tearing her forearm muscles apart.

The tip of his katana had connected.

* * *

He hadn't meant to hit her. He honestly hadn't. 

But damnit, he _had_! And now she was standing there, leaning against the wall with a hand pressed to her wound. It wasn't bleeding—they were smart in using wooden weapons—but this little relief did not completely lift the unbearable, surging guilt that had suddenly overwhelmed him. To be the cause, the source, of pain to someone he had undeniably and indubitably come to cherish . . .

He dropped his bokken, as if it was poison, and it clattered against the hard floor, the noise reverberating throughout the large, spacious dojo.

Where had it gone all wrong? Where did he slip?

He viciously racked his brain, trying desperately to make sense of the situation. The idea had been amusing to him at first—he had never fought for fun before, not having, when he held a real sword, the word "fun" in his vocabulary and therefore never exceedingly experienced such activities. He had always been doing Shishio-sama's biddings and had come to assume, in his ingenuousness, that slaughtering hopeless victims for his master was the closest thing to "fun" a boy in his situation could hope for. But when she had mentioned sparring, when he had taken her up on her offer and began dodging her attacks—for indeed, she was a very good swordfighter—he saw things in a different, more sensible light.

Fun was not killing people. Fun was doing the laundry. Fun was watching the sunset. Fun—and happiness—for him was, in essence, _Kaoru_.

And how had he repaid her? One glance at her condition told him his answer and Soujiro's innards burned with self-hate.

She grunted in pain and slid to the floor into a sitting position. He instantly appeared in front of her and crouched to her level, hands raised as if to touch her but hovering a distance away instead, as if he was afraid that he would only inflict more misery by coming in contact with her. "Kaoru," he whispered but couldn't get himself to look at her, couldn't get himself to say the words he wanted to.

_I'm so sorry._

He should have never gone against the troubled feeling in the pit of his stomach from before, should have never ignored his gut when it told him not to attack her when she so tenaciously asked (or really, demanded). But he _had_. He had pretended to be ignorant of he used to be—who he still _was_, as today's events evidently showed—and should have known that even if he softened his blows to assure her safety, she would have never been entirely protected against a monster like him.

"Hey." She smiled widely, lifting his chin so he could look at her face. "It's okay."

"But—" He started to argue, however a finger on his lips cut him off and she glared at him with something like hopelessness.

"It was a duel," she stated flatly, "and that means victory is only attained when one successfully disarms his opponent. Plus," her features lit up and he couldn't help but gently beam back, as was the power her smiles had, "I've suffered worse. _Far_ worse. I'm not weak, Soujiro. I can handle something as measly as this."

He sighed, nonetheless unsure. "Still, I'm very—"

"—sorry, I know. And you shouldn't be, but I suppose convincing you that is out of the question, isn't it?"

He grinned sheepishly at her.

"But," she let out an exasperated breath, "if it'll make you feel better, I forgive you."

He searched her face—the dazzling eyes, gently upturned lips, and smooth forehead covered slightly with her midnight bangs—and found nothing but sincerity. She did not hate him . . . and Soujiro never felt so relieved in his entire life. If only the rest of the world had been as forgiving and humane as her. Maybe then he wouldn't have grown up way he had.

"Well then, at least let me bandage that wound for you," he resolved.

"Alright," she chirped, apparently fine with the idea. "I keep a couple of spare bandages here, near the rack of kendo swords. You'd be stunned at how much I've wounded myself sometimes."

He threw her a disapproving glance while retrieving a little box sheltered in the corner, behind a few scrolls of kendo philosophy, and a small jug of water settled nearby. "You shouldn't overwork yourself, Kaoru. It isn't healthy."

She nodded, suddenly dour, "I'm aware of that, but surpassing my limits is the only way I'll get better. And if that means injuring myself every once and awhile, so be it. After all, only the strong . . ."

_. . . survive and the weak must die. _

". . . minded do well in life," she finished as he returned relieved, spreading the items next to her. She tugged her hakama's sleeve until its collar slid down her forearm. He traced the curve of her neck and shoulder with his eyes—astounded at how robust her upper body was; the signs of years of sword fighting was evident on her delicately muscled forearm—before spotting the bruise he had caused, snug comfortably right at the structure between her arm and body. It was turning a rather nice shade of purple and pink, sorely standing out against her pale, creamy skin. He momentarily wondered if it was as soft and porcelain-like as it appeared.

"But you're already strong," he argued, leaning closer to carefully observing the bash. He could see some of the muscle tissue was damaged. When he gently touched the discolored bruise, brushing with the tip of his fingers to see if he was right, she hissed—to which he immediately smiled apologetically—but whether she had reacted that way because he had sparked uncomfortable agitation from making physical contact or from what he had said, he didn't know. Either was a likely possibility with someone as willful as Kaoru.

"Strong?" she echoed incredulously as he folded a strip of cloth into a small pad and dipped it into the jug of water, until it was thoroughly moist, before applying it to her shoulder. She tensed for a bit, though eventually relaxed, as the cool liquid eased the ache. "Compared to you, hardly!"

He shook his head sadly and continued patting the wound. "I don't count."

"And why not?"

He didn't respond, silently cursing himself for walking into a question he knew he could not answer without betraying some form of his past—the very thing he wanted hidden from her because he was sure she would not take well to the circumstances of his personal history, no matter how forbearing she was. He was not proud of what he used to do, who he worked for, and while he knew the near impossibility of forgetting those horrid days—as they clearly had a habit of resurfacing—he was aware that the least he could do was shelter Kaoru from bearing the knowledge, from looking at him any differently.

"Soujiro," she said his name in a tone he could not ignore, however, and he carefully met her gaze. She was in such close proximity that he saw the blistering curiosity in her orbs, swirling, perplexing, and especially mesmerizing in the disappearing light. "How did you become such a good swordsman?"

He sighed; there was no avoiding it now, he was going to have to give her an answer. Maybe if he chose his words carefully . . . "When I was little, I saved the life of a man, who later offered to take me along on his travels as his protégé. For a while, he taught me a few skills with the sword. But then he died, and with it my training did too. I can't say I'm disappointed, though."

She stared at him inquisitively, unmoving, and for a split second he worried she was going to inquire more or question the validity of his story. But she didn't and only smirked coyly at him. "That explains why you fight so well." She paused, peering at him, and then asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was important."

She gave a very unlady-like snort, mumbling something about 'unfair advantages', and looked away in half-hearted irritation.

He chuckled—_She's so easy to tease._—and turned to resume in the task of dressing her shoulder. The lesion was reasonably cleansed by now, so he slipped a strip of long cloth in between his fingers before diligently wrapping it over and around her arm joint. He worked slowly, but precisely, having honed such skills from the frequent times he had bandaged Shishio-sama's unearthly burns. A comfortable silence hung in the atmosphere and he felt extraordinarily at peace being with her, for there was something soothing in the nightly choir outside, the faint radiance of a dying sun, and her steady heartbeat under his touch.

Life was fleeting, but infinitely beautiful.

When he was done, she looked at her newly bandaged shoulder with admiration. "Wow," she murmured, "I've got to say, Soujiro, you've got magical fingers. I can barely feel a thing."

He smiled, admiring the girl upon whom his handiwork was performed on. "It was a straightforward wound, thankfully. You will heal in no time."

"Good." Kaoru experimentally gave her fingers and elbow a flex. "The sooner I recover, the sooner you can teach me some moves."

His eyes instantly grew wide but before he could exclaim his astonishment and directly refute such a ludicrous request—because after what happened today, the last thing he was fit to be was her teacher—he felt an aura probe the back of his mind and turned his head to examine the entrance of the dojo. The characteristic force belonged to none other than Yahiko, quickly, and quite furiously from what he could tell by his heavy, irate stomps, making his way towards their current area of location.

"What's wrong?" she asked worriedly, seeing how his attention quickly shifted.

He gave her a small, perceptive smile, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yahiko is coming."

Brace yourself, in other words.

And as if on cue, the shadowed outline of a figure appeared parading the walkway outside, visible from the thinness of the shoji and the candle in his hand. There was a loud "Oi, buso!" before the entrance of the dojo suddenly opened and, like in Soujiro's prediction, Yahiko appeared before them, thoroughly pissed. "I've been waiting for hours! When's din . . . ner . . ." The words gradually died in the boy's mouth as he saw the scene in front of him—the abandoned bokken in the middle of the room, Kaoru slouched against the shoji with her hand pressed to her bandaged shoulder, and Soujiro questionably kneeling nearby with a faint, ghost of a smile on his face.

It was not hard piecing the evidence together and shortly thereafter, he turned to him, rage burning in his eyes. "What the hell did you do?"

"He didn't do anything, Yahiko." Kaoru retorted, standing up. Soujiro, without having it cross the vicinities of his mind, instantly came to her aid by gripping her waist and uninjured arm. She smiled gratefully at him, for the evening duel had fairly worn her out, before meeting her student's blazing glare with a fiery one of her own. "I asked him to train with me and we were sparring when—"

"You hit her, didn't you?" The young samurai once again veered his attention back at the man under accusation. He reached for something attached to his back—a kendo sword—and pulled it out, pointing it at his direction and looking as if he was ready to lividly kill Soujiro for injuring his precious teacher. He couldn't blame the fellow, of course.

"Yahiko!" she screeched, control over her anger teetering on the edge, as she slid to stand in front of her guest protectively. Soujiro felt a surge of warmth. "Stop it! Put that away!"

The boy grunted in protest, and for a while stood defiantly unmoving. Eventually, once he realized that Kaoru was equally stubborn in staying where she was, he crossly replaced his weapon, sliding it back where it had rested before he had intently exposed it. She stepped forward, eyes soft but tone still hard with scolding strictness. "Now what has gotten with you? You've never acted like this before."

He turned away, running a hand through his tousled black hair in an infuriated gesture. "You don't know what he's capable of, Kaoru," he gritted out.

She looked at him, forehead crinkled in puzzlement. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" She spared Soujiro a quick glance, who, meanwhile was also wondering inconspicuously what the boy was talking about. In fact, now that he was mulling it over, Yahiko had been acting quite strangely towards the rurouni as of late—the constant, not-so-subtle glowers; the regular inspections of his and Kaoru's habitual activities; the overbearing protectiveness that seemingly sprouted out of the blue like a weed amidst a bed of flowers ever since Sano left days ago. It was as if he was aware of . . .

_Ah._ He inwardly smiled. _I see._ It all made sense. The conclusion that answered all his questions was relatively simple.

He _knew_.

There was no doubting it. Yahiko had been informed of Soujiro's past—that he had been the ruthless, unreadable, right hand man of the notorious Shishio and the strongest killing machine of the Juppongatana. That he had been, ultimately taking his master's philosophy to heart, fully intent on sucking the life out of the very man who had unmistakably caught Kaoru's devotion and was now resting, hopefully in peace, for eternity.

He caught Yahiko's gaze and stared back knowingly, a secretive smile tingling on his mouth. The boy bit his lip, flustered and turned around, as if he realized he had already said too much. "Never mind." He promptly changed the subject as he sauntered outdoors. "Let's go eat. I'm hungry."

"Yahiko!" Kaoru cried, reaching for him. She was confused, but the boy had already left, nothing but a bouncing speck of gold disappearing into the shadows of the night. And because he had taken their only form of light, the candle, along with him as well, the two remaining inhabitants of the Kamiya dojo were engulfed in bleak darkness. He could still see, nevertheless, her eyes when she turned around to face him. The unshed tears of hurt flooded them and sparkled in the dimness.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled brokenly. "I don't know what's wrong with him."

"I don't expect everyone to be fond of me." He put a comforting had at the small of her back before gently guiding her outside. "The world does not function in such a blissful manner for me to do so, but I'm okay with that." _So as long you still like me, I will always be okay with that._

Once outside, he took a deep breath of fresh air. The cool of the night bit into his skin and would have chilled him to his bones if it hadn't been for the warm, sober, and pondering female next him still in thought over the problematic moment that had presently transpired. Neither talked, though he did not mind the quiet; in actuality, he enjoyed it, as it gave him an opportunity to admire the stillness of the trees or the singing crickets without thinking too deeply.

That is not to say, however, he wasn't welcoming to the change when Kaoru leaned against his body—for heat or familiarity, he didn't know, but would provide whichever thoughtlessly. His hand, in fact, moved to her waist on its own accord and stayed there for the remainder of their journey and only removed itself once they reached the dining area (more so for Yahiko's sake than anything). The room stood out like a beacon, illuminating a light that threw dangerous shadows on nearby attributes of the yard. Small, insignificant rocks transformed into the warped forms of dangerous phantoms. Helpless twigs by morning became lethal, elongated claws.

Funny how deceiving and truly frightening the night was sometimes. Gorgeous, dark, and intense.

Just like the rain.

Just like Kaoru.

There was one other major quality, however, that the young dojo owner had that neither of the previous possessed, nor _could_ ever possess. _Compassion_, he noted, remembering her smile, her tears, her forgiveness. And as she stepped away to slide open the shoji, _Warmth_, he added, growing suddenly very cold.

The light from inside was bright and welcoming. Yahiko sat on the floor, feet crossed and resting his chin in the palm of an arm erect on the table. He was listlessly poking something in his bowl with his chopsticks, face twisted with obvious distaste. He continued stabbing his dinner until the tip of his utensils impaled something and the boy held it up in what must have been an attempt of understanding what he was being forced to eat. It was charred beyond recognition and even Soujiro himself had to squint for a considerably long time until he, having remembered that Kaoru had wanted to cook some seafood for them that late evening, realized it was overcooked shrimp.

Yahiko, who predictably disregarded Soujiro, took a wary bite of the decidedly unsavory thing, gave it an tentative chew, and then immediately spit it out. His face twisted with dislike, pain even, as he urgently reached for his cup of water and gulped the liquid down in one swallow. "Damnit, buso!" he gasped, wheezing, "I swear your cooking gets worse every time you try!"

This declaration of loathing directed at her food preparation skills—something, as the wanderer learned quickly, that she took very personally—snapped her out of her moody trance, much to his delight. She glared, pointing a finger at her student. "You ungrateful little brat! If you can't be thankful, don't eat at all! Starve, for all I care!"

Oh, but she did care. It was as obvious as the sky was blue in the morning.

"Yeah, well," Yahiko grunted, picking through his food, "I think I'm better off starving than being poisoned to death."

She stomped inside noisily, trying to hide her smile with a deep frown. She was practically glowing with rekindled joy; things, albeit for now at least, were back to normal between the student and teacher. She dropped across from the boy and they continued to argue amongst themselves in a familiar manner. It became apparent to him that this was a routine they had performed a countless number of times, way before he came along. Kaoru and Yahiko had a bond—something he could only wish to have one day—and Soujiro wavered on whether he should intrude any more than he already had. The idea of entirely skipping dinner did not sound too bad. He wasn't that hungry, either, as wandering for three years had severely curbed his diet.

"Oi," an aggravated voice called and he—as well as Kaoru—looked to the direction of the yell, shocked to see that it was Yahiko, considering his prior display of dislike, talking to him, much less so calmly. "You're letting the cold in. Get inside and close the door."

The rurouni did not need any more convincing and he quickly slipped in. Satisfied, the boy proceeded begrudgingly in trying to swallow his meal while Soujiro, still partially bewildered, slowly sat down at an empty space wondering if normal teenaged boys were prone to chaotic, bursting mood swings. He was wholly uncertain, though, having been far from the definition of normal when he had been around that age and dubbed for being fully devoid of any emotion.

His thoughts were interrupted when Kaoru beamed at him (which he returned with no conscious) and offered him some dumplings, which he took heartily to please her. It was when he reached for a bowl of wasabi sauce that Yahiko's eyes met his and he saw the words transpiring in them.

For a while, they only watched each other, Kaoru's amiable chattering in the background.

Then, Yahiko's eyes narrowed in warning. '_You better never hurt her again.'_

_'I can assure you, I won't.'_ Soujiro coolly stared back, his own eyes hard in seriousness.

This unnerved the boy a bit. He was not expecting it. _'I'll make sure of that. I . . . care about her. A lot.' _

_'I know.' _He gave the young but undoubtedly wise samurai-in-training—with whom he now shared a common understanding—a furtive smile. _'I care about her too.' _

A lot more than maybe even he himself was aware of at the moment.

* * *

_"What are you still, still thinking,"  
__He asked in vague surmise,  
__"That you stare at the wick unblinking  
__With those great lost luminous eyes?" _

_"O, I see a poor moth burning  
__In the candle-flame," said she,  
__"Its wings and legs are turning  
__To a cinder rapidly." _

_"Moths fly in from the heather,"  
__He said, "now the days decline."  
__"I know," said she. "The weather,  
__I hope, will at last be fine."  
-__excerpt from "The Moth-Signal", Thomas Hardy _

**To Be Continued . . . **

* * *

**A/n:** Oh boy. laughs nervously Where do I start? I can't even begin to say how sorry I am for taking nearly . . . _forever_ to update. Time, I suppose, flies by when you're trying to sort through life, especially when its being uncooperative and nowhere as kind as you wish it was. Basically, issues arose and I needed to sort through them before shimmying down to write. 

The positive aspect of my hiatus, however, is that I have a pretty good idea of where the story is going holds up her outline. And now that my problems are gone (or at the least, momentarily subdued), you guys can be rest assured that upcoming updates will definitely not take as long as this one did. :D

Hopefully this extra-super-long chapter will make up for my absence, too! Count'em—nearly 7000 words! Granted a few hundred are from my disclaimer, mini-glossary, bizarre poem insert, and author's note . . . but still, I worked hard making it my longest update ever! I also, after completing it, went through some past chapters and gave them a good revising over. Nothing, of course, that requires major rereading, though.

Musical Inspiration: Memoirs of a Geisha Soundtrack (so if you have it, I highly recommend giving it an ear while reading this in the future, as it has become an integral muse of mine).

Anyway, I'd like to thank my reviewers for their constant support (I got _100_ reviews!). You guys are absolutely the best! And to the supportive email-ers (you know who you are!) who dropped a note every once and awhile to check if I was alive and planning on continue this story: my answer, by the length of this chapter, should be obvious. :D

Please review; I'll be eternally grateful!


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